


Love Your Enemy

by reyxbway



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Blind Date, F/M, Gangs, I'm Sorry Victor Hugo, Pontmercying, Sad Ending, but not really gangs? bc hero and villain teams?, cosette is a mutual friend and i don't know How it happened, eponine is still sad i'm sorry, kinda really renegades based, really bad ending i'm sorry guys, superhero au, uhh i don't really know what this is?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-01-26 10:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21372733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyxbway/pseuds/reyxbway
Summary: Eponine Thenardier, daughter of the leader of the most fearsome villain gang in town, never intended to fall in love with a superhero. Marius Pontmercy, the second-in-command of the most upstanding hero team in town, never intended to fall in love with a supervillain. Yet, when a mutual friend sets them up on a blind date, they find themselves in love with each other. But in a world that wants to tell them apart, will they be able to keep their love alive?
Relationships: Marius Pontmercy/Éponine Thénardier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LaynesLeatherJacket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaynesLeatherJacket/gifts).

Patron-Minette:   
Thenardier- telepathic manipulation- alias Illusionist  
Montparnasse- controls darkness- alias Noir  
Brujon- ink manipulation- alias Nautilus   
Babet- controls lost objects- alias Misfit  
Claquesous- metal manipulation- alias Bladesmith  
Gueulemer- turns to stone at will- alias Tecton  
Èponine- can manipulate and take on the characteristics of plants- alias Nightshade

Les Amis:   
Enjolras- statue manipulation- alias Michelangelo  
Joly- healing powers- alias Sage  
Marius- can turn himself invisible- alias Incognito  
Gavroche- can change his size- alias Pipsqueak   
Courfeyrac- charms people to lower their defenses- alias Siren   
Grantaire- detects lies and can make others believe lies- alias Falsity  
Combeferre- remembers everything he’s ever seen or read- alias Trivia  
Feuilly- wind manipulation- alias Typhoon  
Jehan- has a calming effect on his surroundings- alias Amnesty   
Bahorel- makes everyone want to fight- alias Instigator   
Lesgles- manipulates bad luck- alias Omen 

Other Characters:   
Cosette- avian manipulation and transformation- alias White Raven   
Jean Valjean- super strength- no alias  
Azelma- can manipulate blood- alias Scarlet Fury   
Javert- isn’t really a superhero, just knows the law really well- “alias” Sentinel  
Félicité- can manipulate love- alias Heartstring


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eponine finds herself with an unexpected visitor.

Èponine crouched atop the building, biting her lip to suppress the cry rising in her as thorns grew out of the spaces between her fingers. She shook off the pain, breathing deeply to calm her nerves. Her eyes fell on the spikes without even thinking about it, and a wicked grin played on her lips. Wonderful. Things were shaping up perfectly. She raised her wrist to her mouth, whispering, “Are they coming, Papa?” into the small commlink nestled in the sleeve of her skintight, midnight purple jumpsuit.   
“Hush, Nightshade,” her father answered. Èponine rolled her eyes. How much quieter could she be? She was already whispering. “They could hear us. But yes, they’re coming.” He paused for a moment, and Èponine was about to mute her commlink so as not to expose her position, but then he said, “Don’t call me Papa while we’re on a mission. My name is the Illusionist, remember?”  
“Yes, Papa. I’m sorry.”   
“Don’t let it happen again, or you will pay the price, okay?”  
“Yes, Pa—Illusionist.” She hung her head, hoping her father couldn’t hear her sigh. He was her father. Why couldn’t he see that instead of simply seeing her as another pawn in his scheme? But just as quickly as her sadness had come, it fled again. She had to be strong. Strength couldn’t be used against her. “Are the others with you?”   
“All but Noir,” Thenardier responded. “He’s gone rogue and is trying to lure those infernal boys toward us by manipulating their shadows. I don’t know how he thinks it’s going to work, but he refused to listen to me. You know how he can be.”   
Èponine covered her microphone and giggled, knowing her father would scold her if she made too much noise. “Classic Montparnasse-er, Noir. Always believing he’s right.” She paused. “Why didn’t you just bring them toward us or make them want to fight or something, if you want to battle them so badly?”   
“Little Nightshade, do you think I have no honor?” he asked. Èponine raised one eyebrow, fighting back the urge to answer him. “I want a fair fight; one the other party wasn’t forced into. They’ll be here soon enough. They always want a reason to challenge the Patron-Minette.”   
Èponine scoffed. He was right about that. “Don’t I know it,” she hissed. “I’ve seen Incognito or Michelangelo apprehend countless young girls trying to find Azelma or me.” A scene flashed through her mind of Michelangelo’s marble lions’ paws pressed against an innocent young girl’s chest and their teeth almost on her neck as he and Incognito hurled questions she did not have the answer to at her. She could still see the pure terror in the girl’s eyes until Trivia finally told Michelangelo and Incognito that she wasn’t Èponine or Azelma.   
“Call your sister by her alias,” Thenardier warned. Èponine rolled her eyes, praying her father couldn’t see her well enough to catch the gesture.   
“She isn’t even one of us,” she protested, hoping her anger at being corrected didn’t seep into her tone. “She’s too young and clueless!”   
“She likes to think she is, and she’s often more helpful than you are, Nightshade.” Her name came off his tongue like the poison it was drawn from. “And don’t call those boys by their aliases. They don’t deserve that level of respect from you.”   
Èponine frowned. It was interesting how he defined respect. To her, it was more disrespectful to refuse to use someone’s real name. Aliases stole the humanity from the person they were pinned on. Still, she had to listen to him or risk his anger when she got home that night. “I guess you’re right.”  
A flash of motion in the alleyway below caught her eye, and she muted her commlink, hoping her father didn’t have anything else important to say. Her eyes darted around, searching for the familiar outfits she so dreaded seeing. A tiny white dove caught her eye, and she exhaled, calming her racing heart. This peace lasted only a few seconds, however, as in a blinding flash of light, the bird transformed into a petite teenage girl around Èponine’s age. Her long blonde hair fell in perfect, face-framing ringlets, and the lacy dress she was wearing hugged her thin figure. She could almost see the girl’s bright white smile, though she wasn’t facing her. Èponine snarled, her gaze hardening. She unmuted her commlink and said, “White Raven’s here.”   
Her father laughed, a deep, hearty sound she had grown to fear in her seventeen years of living. “As if she cares about Paris’s villains and heroes. She and her father live in their own little bubble, floating through the town thinking about nothing but each other and their perfect little life. She’ll probably just go into one of the shops to spend money she doesn’t deserve.”   
His words stabbed into Èponine like tiny daggers, but he never had to know that. “She’s friends with Les Amis,” she answered, hoping her anger with her father was disguised with anger for their rivals. “If she sees us, she’ll report back to them.”   
“Cosette’s your friend too, you know. Perhaps she’d help you.”   
Èponine couldn’t resist the urge to laugh, and the sound danced through the alley. She cursed. “If she knew I was Nightshade, she’d report me to them in an instant. We’d be dead before the sun rises tomorrow.”   
“That’s the price this life comes with.”   
Èponine balled her hands into fists, the thorns growing. She winced. Still, the pain was better than the beating she’d get if she dared tell her father she didn’t want to be in his gang. The idea of being a villain made her insides churn. She wanted to be good. To prove that she was different than her family and his awful gang. To give her dear little sister Azelma and all future Thenardiers the chance to make a life for themselves instead of being forced into working with the Patron-Minette.   
But that was a foolish wish and she knew it.   
Cosette flounced through the door of one of the shops, and all the tension in Èponine’s shoulders released. “She’s gone.” Of course, no sooner had she said this before she caught a glimpse of goldenrod yellow hair tied back into a low ponytail with a red ribbon. She stiffened again, pain shooting through her back as thorns stabbed through her shoulder blades, the sound of ripping fabric making her cringe. She cursed again, knowing she’d have to stitch her uniform up when she got home that night.   
“What? What is it?” the Illusionist asked, his voice rising. Èponine said nothing, her wide brown eyes fixed on the man in the alleyway. “Nightshade! Answer me!” A fearsome roar echoed against the walls, sending a sudden shock of panic through her. She shook her head, mouthing the word “no” over and over as if it would magically send away the pair of marble lions, a male and a female, prowling the street below, tails lashing like whips. This couldn’t be happening. She leaned over the edge of the building, not daring to show more than her eyes, which she prayed wouldn’t give her away. “Èponine Thenardier!” Her father’s voice bellowed from her commlink, and the man looked up at her, his bright blue eyes meeting hers. She tugged her hood over her eyes, hoping he hadn’t recognized her. Michelangelo. Her heart pounded into her throat as she got to her feet, her legs shaking beneath her.   
“Come down from there!” Michelangelo shouted.   
“Oh, you’re going to regret asking that,” Èponine muttered, pushing her hand out toward the edge of the building, her fingers splayed out. She wailed as a vine spiraled from her palm, wide, yellow-green leaves appearing at random intervals until it reached the ground. She leapt to the first leaf, not worrying when it bounced beneath her feet, then to the next, sliding like a droplet of water, until she landed on the cobblestone street, a cloud of dust surrounding her boots. “Hello, Michelangelo.”   
“Nightshade,” Michelangelo said, snapping his fingers. The two lions bounded to his side, teeth bared just enough that Èponine could see their fangs. “Bacchus, Pieta, you do remember her, don’t you?” He ran his fingers through the lions’ fur. “I do hope you remember enough to know that she’s an enemy.”   
Èponine’s eyes went wide as the lions looked at her, licking their lips. She raised her wrist to her mouth, praying her father was still listening. “Michelangelo’s here. And he’s out for our blood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here's the first real chapter! What was your favorite part? I personally love Enj's marble lions, and I'm very proud of myself for naming them after Michelangelo's statues. I dunno. I'm kinda proud of this. Anyway, stay warm out there, friends! I love you all!


	3. Chapter  Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Patron-Minette finds themselves squaring up against the Amis.

Èponine didn’t dare tear her eyes from Michelangelo, whose stony blue eyes bored into her soul. His two lions circled her, snarling, growing closer with every step, waiting for permission to devour her. Her heart thundered into her ears, but to show fear was to show weakness. Èponine was many things, but she wasn’t weak. Not when it came to this. Not in times of crisis.   
“Requesting backup in front of the Musain. Nightshade’s here, and the rest of the Patron-Minette will be soon,” Michelangelo said, trying to keep his operation a secret.   
“Status?” someone responded, voice crackling through the low-quality speaker. Anger surged inside her. She knew that voice all too well. Incognito. Her worst enemy. He’d hurt her sister when she was just a child and they stumbled upon each other during a mission, causing her power to spark. Though Azelma was happy she had the chance to become a member of the Patron-Minette, Èponine had never forgiven him for putting her darling little sister in danger. “I can be there in five, if necessary.”   
“I’ve got Bacchus and Pieta monitoring her, but I can’t trust her not to lash out at any minute. Get here as soon as possible.”  
“Roger,” Incognito answered. Michelangelo muted his commlink and turned back to Èponine, who laughed.   
“Too afraid to take me by yourself?” she asked, raising one eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Bit of a shame that the Marble Man and his lions don’t even dare to fight a puny teenage girl by themselves.” Michelangelo scoffed, but said nothing. She smiled, knowing he couldn’t see her mouth behind her silver, leaf-adorned face mask, and flicked her wrist, sending a vine shooting from her hand. With a slight movement of her fingers, it wrapped around the male lion’s neck, and he yowled as he was pulled away from her, slamming into the wall. A small chunk of stone broke off and clattered to the cobblestone. A bit of his mane. She’d barely done anything. She flicked her wrist, and the vine whip disappeared into the ground. The lioness chased after him, licking his face and pawing at his face, mewling like a kitten.  
“Bacchus!” Michelangelo shouted; his face contorted in anguish that turned to anger as he looked back at her. “Pieta!” His voice cut through the air like a knife. “Get her.” The lioness roared as she leapt toward Èponine, stone claws extended. Èponine closed her eyes, hands outstretched in front of her in hopes of impaling the animal on her thorns, bracing for the impact. It never came. She opened her eyes, searching for the lioness, and found her laying at the Illusionist’s feet, her tail flicking lazily as she washed her paws. Èponine rushed over to him, hoping Pieta wouldn’t remember who she was and lunge at her.   
“About time you got here,” she muttered, glaring at her father.  
“I wouldn’t criticize the man who saved your life,” he answered as Pieta got to her feet, standing in front of Èponine. Michelangelo glared at them, shouting for his lioness to attack. “She’s not going to listen to you!” the Illusionist yelled, resting his hand on her back. She pressed her entire body weight onto Èponine, who stumbled.   
“Where are the others? We can’t take all of Les Amis by ourselves.”  
“Don’t fret, my dear.” The endearment slithered through her body, making her squirm. “They’re on their way.” Èponine nodded, hoping he was right. They couldn’t take all of Les Amis by themselves. “Oh, and Scar is coming,” he added.  
Èponine’s heart stopped, then began racing. “No,” she whispered, frantically tapping her commlink. The little screen burst to life, illuminating her face. “Z, can you hear me?” she asked, her eyes darting toward her father.   
“Shade?” a voice asked, harsh and warm at the same time. “Is that you?”  
“Thank God,” Èponine said, not bothering to hide her relief. “Whatever you do, don’t listen to Papa. Hide somewhere safe.” Thenardier glared at her out of the corner of his eye, but she paid no attention. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”  
She could hear the cogs creaking in Azelma’s mind as she weighed her options. “And what’s in it for me?” Èponine sighed. Though she wished nothing more than to get away from the lifestyle she’d been raised in, her sister was a Thenardier through and through, always looking out for herself when nobody else would.   
A man materialized in front of Èponine, clad in tuxedo-like armor with a black domino mask covering his eyes. She cursed. Incognito. He strolled over to Michelangelo, consoling him as he tried not to weep over his lion. Èponine covered her mouth with her hand, trying not to laugh. Didn’t he know that a minor mane chip wasn’t enough to keep Bacchus down for longer than a few minutes? Incognito turned to her. “Ah, Nightshade! I see we meet again,” he said, touching his shoulder. Èponine couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride beginning to glow in her chest. She’d stabbed him with one of her thorns the week before, and it was nice to know that it’d been bothering him ever since.   
“Truly a pleasure to see you,” she said, dipping her head as she curtseyed, hoping he didn’t notice the roots raising from the ground around his feet. When she looked back up, her stomach dropped to her feet. Incognito was gone, and the tangle of roots had knotted itself. She huffed, scanning the area for any sign of motion, though she knew it was futile.   
A flash of motion in the shadows behind her caught her eye, and she turned around, vines peeking out of the soil, just in time to see a man materialize from the darkness. She threw her hands down and the seedlings withered, her heart racing. “Hello, Michelangelo,” the man purred, his voice sickly sweet. “Miss me?” Bacchus raised his head and snarled, but his teeth were hardly showing when a rope of dark energy wrapped itself around the lion’s neck and tightened. He yelped and fell back to the ground. The man cackled.  
“Noir. I see you haven’t changed since we last met,” Michelangelo said, tugging at the rope around Bacchus’s neck, causing it to tighten.   
Noir laughed. “I am nothing if not consistent, dear Michelangelo. And I see you’re still relying on these lions to do your dirty work for you. Why don’t you try fighting me yourself instead of hiding behind statues for once?”   
“Only if you don’t disappear into the shadows mid-battle like a coward for once,” Michelangelo muttered, getting to his feet. He snapped, and the knight statue perched on a platform in the town square sprang to life, swinging its sword and spurring its horse. Èponine grimaced. This was not going well. She dashed toward her father, whose eyes were closed as he struggled to maintain control over Pieta, who had heard her master’s snap.   
“Papa,” she whispered.   
“Illusionist,” he corrected.   
“Whatever. Where are the others?” Èponine asked.   
“I don’t know. They’re supposed to be here.” He shouted and his eyes shot open. Pieta shook her head, snarling, and bounded to Michelangelo’s side. “Go call them. And hurry. The other Amis are coming.” He gestured to the mouth of the alleyway, and sure enough, there stood Omen, Instigator, and Siren, arms crossed. “I’ll head them off. You find Incognito and call the rest of the Minette.”   
“Yes, sir,” Èponine said, creating a large rose under her feet that elevated her above the main battlefield. Once she was high enough that she didn’t think anyone could hurt her, she raised her wrist to her mouth. “Nautilus, Misfit, Bladesmith, Tecton, where are you?” she asked, anger seeping into her voice. “We can’t handle the Amis by ourselves.”   
A voice crackled through the transmitter. “I’m on my way over.” Gueulemer, better known as Tecton. Good. At least someone was coming. “How bad is it?”  
Èponine cringed as her father drifted toward Siren, who was saying something she couldn’t make out, oblivious to Incognito standing right behind him, a knife poised to drive into his shoulder blade. She sighed and summoned a large sunflower right in the path of the knife, grinning as seeds fell to the ground in place of drops of blood. Incognito cursed, his eyes meeting hers. She waved at him, mouth wide in a self-satisfied grin. He turned away, grumbling something Èponine couldn’t quite understand. “Not that well,” she said. “Illusionist is falling prey to Siren’s traps.” Once again, I’m carrying the weight of the team, she added to herself.   
“Alright. I’m almost there,” he answered. “I’ll snap him out of it. Siren’s tricks don’t work on me.” Èponine doubted that, but she had neither the time nor the energy to argue with him.   
“So am I!” a female voice chirped, far too cheery for someone about to enter a battle. “Look down, ‘Ponine!” Èponine’s heart sank as she looked to the ground and saw her little sister waving at her. She assumed Azelma was smiling, though she couldn’t see her mouth under her gilded mask. “Hello!”   
She groaned. “Scar, I told you to stay away from here.”   
“I know. But I’d rather listen to the Illusionist than you. You won’t hurt me if I disobey,” Azelma answered. Èponine sighed, hating that Azelma had a point.   
“Fine. But stay out of danger. Come up here with me,” she said, creating another rose with a flick of her hand that brought her sister to her. “Hey, Z.” Azelma crossed her arms, turning away from Èponine. “Oh, don’t be that way. I’m just trying to keep you out of danger like any good sister would.” Azelma still didn’t answer. “What? Giving me the silent treatment for caring about you?” She swatted at Azelma’s ponytail, sending it swinging. She scowled and tightened it, adjusting the blood-red ribbon tied around it so the bow was symmetrical. Èponine scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You’ll thank me when you’re still alive later.”   
A tremor shot through the stem of the flower. “What was that?” Azelma asked, forgetting her anger with her sister. Her voice trembled, and Èponine wrapped a protective arm around her. For once, Scarlet Fury didn’t resist. Another shudder wracked the rose, and one of the petals fell off the blossom and to the ground. “What was that?” Azelma asked again, her voice high and frantic. “Is it going to hurt us?” She pressed closer to Èponine, then remembering that she was supposed to be angry, stepped away, eyes fixed on her bright red boots that blended into the flower.   
Èponine shook her head, trying to shake off her fear as much as reassure Azelma. “I won’t let anything hurt you,” she said, stepping in front of her little sister. “Not that it’s going to, anyway. We can take the Amis any day.” Her voice was tainted with false confidence, a lie she was trying to make herself believe, and she crossed her arms as she stood tall atop the flower, hoping her appearance would frighten away whatever was attacking her. If only Falsity were here, she thought, laughing to herself at the idea of wishing for one of the Amis to come. Still, his presence would trick her mind into believing that there was no way for them to get hurt, and it would’ve been a welcome break from the fear chasing her with every step.   
“I’m scared,” Azelma whispered so quietly Èponine would’ve mistaken it for a gust of wind had she not heard her sister’s breath hitch right before she spoke.   
“I know. I am too. But you’re going to be alright. I’ll protect you,” Èponine said. She poked her head over the edge of the flower, scanning for any sign that something was attacking them. Nothing. She cursed as they shook again, and she laid on her stomach, only her eyes visible from the ground below. This time, she saw it, and a curse escaped her lips.   
“Language check,” Azelma said, giggling.   
Èponine rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up. You’ve said worse.” Her tone darkened. “And at least I had a reason. Michelangelo’s knight statue’s trying to chop this thing down.” She looked down again. “And he’s pretty close to sending us toppling, too.” She got to her feet, dusting yellow pollen off her legs. “Stay up here and find a way to get out. I’ll handle him.”   
“No!” Azelma said, but before she could finish what she was saying, Èponine was bounding down the rose’s leaves. She fell into a sideways lunge when she hit the concrete below, her eyes (what little of them was visible beneath her hood) fixed on the statue. It turned to face her, marble jaw set and tilted upward, sword drawn and facing her. It whistled for its horse and mounted in one swift motion, galloping toward her at full speed. She took a deep breath, knowing what she was about to do was incredibly stupid.   
“Why, hello there!” she said, the words feeling silly on her tongue. “What a lovely man, coming to save a damsel in distress like myself. I must repay you somehow. I insist.” She curtseyed again, though she didn’t make the mistake of breaking eye contact with the knight. However, she did call up a tangle of roots, and this time, her target didn’t disappear. They wrapped around the horse’s hoof, and with a shrill whinny, it tumbled to the ground, taking the knight with it. They hit the concrete with the clatter of an overgrown pebble, and the knight’s head snapped from its neck, rolling to a stop at Èponine’s feet.   
Èponine screamed, clutching her shoulder as she fell to her knees right alongside the knight and its horse. “Nightshade!” Azelma screamed, her voice echoing through the alley. “Hold on—I’m coming.” She was down on the first leaf before she even finished her sentence, bouncing from leaf to thorn and back again like she’d been doing it her whole life. A twinge of pride tugged at Èponine’s heart, though it was quickly overtaken by the pain.   
“You really don’t have to do that,” Èponine said, her voice strained as she tried to yell to someone who didn’t care to listen. She pulled her hand away from her shoulder, admiring the bright red that stained every crease in her palm. “Wow,” she said, letting out a low whistle. “For being just marble, that sword sure is sharp.”   
Azelma was by her side a second later, skidding to a stop right before they collided, hands extended. “Hold on. This is probably going to hurt a little,” she said, pressing her hands to the wound. Èponine’s breath hitched, and she bit her lip to keep a scream from erupting.   
“A little?” she said through gritted teeth.  
Azelma smiled, her shoulders up by her ears, features painted with apologies. “Maybe more than a little. I’ve not really done this before.” She took her hands off Èponine’s shoulder, a swirling ball of blood formed in her hands. “Alright, get out of here,” she said, nudging Èponine’s arm. She winced, but Azelma said nothing. “Don’t want you getting hurt again.”   
“Can’t,” she said. “Illusionist’ll be ticked if I leave before the battle ends.” She grimaced as she flicked her wrist, summoning a little daffodil that was supposed to wrap around Incognito, who was battling with Noir. It withered in its place.   
“Oh, don’t worry about him. Battle’s almost over anyway. Amnesty’s here.” Azelma jabbed her thumb toward the town square, where a man clad in a tie-dye bodysuit adorned with a peace sign stood. Èponine felt more relaxed the minute she set eyes on him. “I’ll cover for you. Go!” Azelma sprang back into the thick of battle, splashing Omen with the orb of blood. Èponine laughed as he sputtered, his skintight white muscle tee soaked scarlet. Azelma turned back to face her and shooed her, and this time, Èponine actually listened.   
As she dashed away from the battlefield, her father’s screams of “Nightshade!” echoed in her ears, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. She had survived, and that was more important than her father’s anger with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I can't write battle scenes, but what else is new? I did my best, fam. This is rough, but I kinda don't hate it. Let me know your thoughts! Also, if you've read Marissa Meyer's Renegades, I can guarantee you you'll see some cinematic parallels between that series and this fic. I was heavily inspired.

**Author's Note:**

> The captain of the Meponine ship is back! Hi guys! I hope you love this little story I randomly got inspired to work on! This is dedicated to my best friend, who spends much more time than she should validating my bad writing and who helped me feel better about all the cheesy aliases I've worked in here. Thanks homie. Anyway. I don't have an update schedule for this yet, and I don't know if I'll ever have one, but that's okay. I love you guys! And yes, I realize these are just the allegiances of the story.


End file.
